Treacherous Witch

"The general commanding the Drakonian army. You'll know him by his sword. You'll sense its magic."

"But why can't you…?"

The queen fiddles with the silver locket hanging at her breast. Then she smiles. "I am—"

*

She barely remembered what happened next. There had been the horse ride, full of bumps and jolts, the flash of Avon's sword as a shadow swooped overhead, then the lake, a boat, a sort of dead, freezing quiet huddled and shivering in his embrace. Then dry land again, the creak of a door, a soft bed. She'd blacked out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

When she became fully conscious again, she smelled piping hot broth, bread and warm milk, and she nearly gave herself a cramp sitting up to reach it.

Setting the tray of food on her lap, Valerie sat propped up against the pillow and squinted in the morning light. She recognised this room: the one in the hunting lodge that she had stayed in before, smelling of oak wood and the bracing scent of the moorland drifting in from the open window. She took a long sip of milk, and her gaze landed on a man she had not expected to see.

"Doryn?"

Perched uncomfortably in a rocking chair, he wore his rough travelling clothes, the same as when he had left them, his boots caked with mud. His sandy hair needed a trim, and stubble roughened his jaw.

"My lady," he said.

"You're back! Are you all right? Did you get the…?"

Her gaze shifted to the book held loosely in his lap and excitement filled her.

Doryn gave a weary nod. "I did, my lady. But you should eat first. Recover your strength."

"Give it to me."

She couldn't wait. He handed it over, and she ignored the pain rippling across her back as she leaned over to take it. The thick, red leather book had a name embossed below the title that she recognised: Flavia Viper.

She looked up. "This is Flavia's?"

"Her mother gave it to me," said Doryn. "She kept it in hope of one day performing the blessing."

She opened the Book of Shadows and ran her fingers over the creamy white pages, crisp and never used. Their birthdays were a week apart, and so by chance Valerie had received the silvertree's blessing just before the Drakonian invasion while Flavia had missed out. To think that their fates had been determined by something as arbitrary as a birth date. If she had been born even a day later, she too would have never been blessed and she might well have ended up like Flavia, trapped in the bed of a Drakonian lord with no way out.

Her fingers trembled. "Is she all right?"

Flavia had not been in a good state when Valerie had last seen her. Losing her brother Quintus had driven her to the brink of despair. Valerie had promised to give her the blessing; she had wanted to save Flavia, to free her from Drakonian tyranny along with everyone else in Maskamere. She still had to make good on that promise. The thought brought a lump to her throat.

"She's alive," said Doryn. "But the pages are blank. I feared I had chosen the wrong book…"

"No." Relieved, she closed the book and set it down. "You need magic to read it. Which we don't have right now. You helped to rescue me last night, didn't you?"

"I did, my lady. Though it appears you escaped yourself."

"Where's Avon?"

"Making arrangements to save you."

"What do you mean?"

"Get some rest, my lady," said Doryn gently. "His Lordship will want to tell you himself when he returns tonight."

She had so much to tell him. And so much to ask. Valerie shifted uneasily, thinking of the Patriarch—Mithras—the wyvern, his imperial guard. They would all be coming after her.

"Are we safe?"

"That's my job, my lady. I'm here to protect you with my life."

Strangely, that comforted her. Doryn let her be, and Valerie ate as much of the broth she could, then curled up and went back to sleep.

The day passed intermittently. Cilla arrived to change her bandages, and she was pleased to find that the stitched wound on her thigh was not infected. Without magic, she would have to recover the slow way. She had partially but not fully healed the scratches on her back. Her headache slowly receded. After another serving of broth for dinner, she got out of bed and winced at the blisters on her feet. Cilla ran a bath, where she discovered more bruises she hadn't known about on her arms, her legs, her jaw. She was almost one giant bruise.

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Cilla patted her down, washing away the blood and grime. Her hands were unsteady. Valerie met the other girl's eyes.

"Why are you shaking?"

"No reason, my lady."

But there was a reason. Even if Cilla didn't know why she had been whisked away to the hunting lodge in secrecy, she had been deathly afraid of Valerie ever since their last trip.

She let it go. When Avon returned to the lodge later that night, Valerie was sitting on the bed in a fresh nightgown, hair washed, tired but not exhausted.

He looked tired too. There were shadows beneath his eyes, his mouth a grim line. He walked in still wearing his long silver-trimmed coat and carrying a briefcase, which he set down on the dresser.

"Hey," she said.

He went over to her at once, ignoring the rocking chair to sit down beside her. "How are you doing?"

She gave a rueful smile. "I'm alive."

"You're injured."

She saw the concern in his eyes, deep and sincere. After the ordeal she had been through, it was difficult to describe the appreciation she felt at being cared for like this, the proof that Avon really, truly had her back. He had come to save her.

If she let that feeling overwhelm her, she might just weep. She focused on keeping her voice steady.

"The Duke shot me in the leg." She indicated her left thigh beneath the nightgown. "I hurt my feet running away. And the Patriarch took control of the wyvern. It clawed me in the back."

"Did they touch you?"

"No," she reassured him. "I escaped before the Duke could get his hands on me."

He exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, but his face was still drawn. "We walked into a trap. I was foolish enough to think that we could do so with open eyes and come away unscathed. Forgive me. I promised to protect you, but…" He looked away.

"Hey," she said gently. "I'm here, aren't I? We got out."

She had suffered at the Patriarch's hands, yes, but as far as Valerie was concerned, he had kept his most important promise. She was still alive.

She took his hands, entwining her fingers with his until he looked at her again. "I'll be fine. We knew this wasn't going to be easy, going up against your father and the Patriarch. What about you? Are you all right? I heard that two servants were killed at the ball. What happened?"

He grimaced. "Father made the announcement as he'd promised. He endorsed me in front of the Patriarch, in front of everyone. Then the Patriarch slipped away, and my father made a sly remark about ensuring your repentance. As soon as I got the truth from him, I saw red. Damn near walloped him. Rufus dragged me away. After that, we couldn't find the Patriarch or his son anywhere. Then that weasel Titus limped in with a bloody leg crying murder. I followed him to the scene."

"The stairwell. Where I stabbed the Duke."

"I surmised as much, but the Duke wasn't there, only the palace guards. There was a great deal of confusion. No one dead, but some strange accusations flying around. Well, the Patriarch arrived. I became quite irate. To cut a long story short, I ended up in a carriage with a bruise on my head. My father left with Rufus and Ophelia shortly after."

So he hadn't killed any servants. And she hadn't either. They'd missed something.

"Titus killed the Duke," she said. "He's trapped in there like I was."

"Titus?" Avon frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"I think my story requires a drink."

A few minutes later, they settled down with a glass of brandy each for a nightcap. Avon had removed his coat and boots, and she leaned into his shoulder, letting him put his arm around her. She wanted him close.

Then she told him everything she had learned from the Patriarch: the revelation about his true identity, the queen's identity, the reason behind the war, the Empire, Maskamere, everything. He listened, ashen-faced, his expression exactly the same as when she had first revealed the truth about the goldentree and the queen's time travelling powers. That night, he had learned that they faced an enemy greater than they could have imagined. Tonight, he was learning that there were two.

"All this time we thought this was our war," she finished. "You and me. Maskamere and Drakon. But it's not our fight at all. It's theirs. We're just caught in the middle."

"Divine help us," he muttered.

They had set aside their empty glasses on the bedside table next to the Book of Shadows. The alcohol warmed her belly and dulled the ache of her wounds.

"Do you remember when you told me about the prisoner's dilemma?" she asked. He nodded. "You said the best way to win was to rig the game. I think that's what Maska and Mithras have been doing for a thousand years."

Maskamere and Drakon. The priestesses of the silvertrees and the Divine Church. Each its own world, each designed to grant a single individual immense power.

"And we're pawns in their game," said Avon. "Like everyone else."

He gave a heavy sigh.

"At least we know," she said. "The first step to winning a game is knowing which one you're playing, right?"

He rose from the bed, and she watched him pace about the room. Yes, they now understood the game… or the main players at least. Mithras had assembled his pawns here in Drakon: the Gideon family, the Emperor, Titus, Melody… He had broken apart Maska's defences, the walls that she had so carefully built. And she had been trying to use the few pieces she had remaining to undo the damage: Anwen and Valerie herself.

Avon had stopped by the dresser, where he opened his briefcase and rifled through some papers. "We don't have much time. The Patriarch is looking for you."

She swallowed. "Does he know where we are?"

"Not yet. We've picked a fight with two ancient sorcerers. But they both want you. That makes you the most valuable piece on the board, Val. It's our only advantage."

"Me…" She glanced at the Book of Shadows. "Then I have to get my magic back. The book might be our only way to stop him."

She'd acquired it with the intent of killing Shikra, but if the book knew a way to end the queen, she guessed it would be just as effective on Mithras. It was either that or ask the queen directly. If she had to choose a side…

"Right," said Avon drily. "A simple matter of killing an immortal."

"It has to be possible. The Patriarch said there used to be many immortals. So what happened to them? Why are he and Maska the only two left?"

"Didn't Maska write that book?"

She nodded. "I can ask it a question and it'll give Maska's answer. I don't know if the real Maska can see it. But I think it's a risk we have to take."

"Then our next move is clear. You need magic. I need to stop the Patriarch from taking you back."

"How?"

He'd picked out a small velvet box from the briefcase, and he now returned to sit down beside her. Valerie looked at it curiously, but she couldn't properly see it clasped in his hand. Was this what he had been doing today? Doryn had said he was making arrangements to save her.

"The Patriarch didn't steal you. He took you legally, if forcefully, by exploiting a loophole in our laws that my father was only too happy to support. The Emperor has the power to turn over a contract to a new owner should he deem the current holder unfit. Really, it was just a way for Emperors to claim any courtesan that caught their eye. But it means I have no claim on you. So I'm going to find a way to overturn it."

Her heart thumped. "What do you mean?"

"We create a new contract. One that can't be transferred."

"You can do that?"

"Yes." He opened the velvet box, his gaze as intense as she'd ever seen it, and presented a silver ring. "Marry me."